


I Can Smell The Rain On You

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Not Abandoned Just Slow To Update, Protective Daryl, mom carol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25256266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Carol is a near broke waitress just getting by. Daryl is a sheepish loner who starts visiting her diner. And Henry's just some hungry homeless kid on the streets. Carol decides she should take these two boys in. Never did function well on an empty stomach. Diner AU.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Henry (Walking Dead: Kingdom) & Carol Peletier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	I Can Smell The Rain On You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a couple of "carol is a waitress" au fics and decided to write my own take on it. This first chapter is rough but i just wanted to start and get something out there. Also i will be switching POVs every chapter, so the next chapter will be in Daryl's POV.

The diner was quiet this evening. Less bustling than usual. Carol decided she preferred it this way. Of course it meant less tips, but she liked the calm it brought. It was easier to manage. She brought the final table their order and filled the rest of the time with cleaning up the other abandoned tables. 

It was near closing time when she heard the soft bell above the door make a ding, announcing a new customer. Immediately, like a reflex, her face contorted in a frown. She really just wanted to go home. Not that “home” was much of a home to go to. 

She stared around and quickly she had already seen all of it. It was a small apartment, but it’s what she could afford for the time being. Besides, her old place of comfort was her tiny bathroom, so the size was no issue. The light yellow walls with white rims looked gentle and the space was furnished. It probably wasn’t going to get better than that. She tucked a strand of her grey hair behind her ear and signed the lease. 

However, she quickly replaced her unhappiness with her routine beaming smile. The moment she saw the new customer her mind started to talk. She noticed the man’s seemingly awkward energy. He stood right inside from the door, as though unsure of how to proceed. Which she found odd, given his appearance and the stigma she applied with it. His types were always tough and manly, unforgiving and unapologetic. Therefore, she found his reserved and shy behavior slightly unnerving. His eyes felt kind though as he stared into hers, quickly roaming only to take in her whole appearance. She approached him smiling, taking out her pen and notepad from her apron pouch.

“Welcome, would you like a booth or a table?” She said, as she does everyday for countless times, however her voice came out much kinder this time, for reasons she didn’t dare ask herself.

“A booth, please,” he said, finishing his sentence by starting to bite on his thumb nail. She noted the quirk.

She placed him at a booth near the back corner, aware that he seemed the isolated type by his sheepish demeanor. He seemed appreciative. “What drink can I start you with?” She asked after a few comfortable moments from him picking up the short menu. “I’ll just take a water… thanks,” he added. “Sure thing,” she replied and gave him a quick smile before heading off. She usually never responded, she would just walk off from the normal disrespecting customer that tried to manage her.

Something was different about this one, she just knew it, and she _liked it_. Not because this patron was simply being polite for a change, but somehow she received the feeling of security. Which was something that was averted from her for years. 

The only safety she felt came from the sound of the lock clicking in the door. She slid down against it, perhaps gaining comfort in using her body as another barrier. And the frequent event was happening again. She felt his fists slamming on the other side of the door and the vibration shook her to her core. “Carol!” “You better come out right now, or I will break this door down, so help me God!” “You bitch!” Then finally would the kick at the door arrive, and he’d storm out of the house. Gone to aim his anger at whatever poor bartender was working that night.

In no time it seemed, she was back next to him, dropping off his water. His menu was placed back down and he was quietly sitting. When he first came in, she was upset that she would be having to deal with a new patron when it was near closing. Most of those situations ended badly because she eventually had to get them to leave. She wasn’t worried about that happening with him though, and she felt glad. Almost appreciative for him in a way. But she didn’t let her mind get that far.

“You know what you want to order?” she said, instinctively smiling down at him, like she was his best friend. 

“Yeah, I’ll just have the fried chicken bites,” he said assuredly, and gently handed her the menu.

“Okay,” she replied. The quick, two-syllable word came out seemingly cheerful. “I’ll be right back,” and again she smiled. He watched her go and as she felt his eyes on her back, she decided she didn’t mind him noticing her. _All of her._ She hurried that thought out of her mind. She was disgusted at herself for already thinking these thoughts with a man she just met. She knew nothing about who he was, but all she could pay attention to was the fluttery tension in her stomach. A feeling she hasn't truly felt since childhood. The nostalgia it brought made her blush.

She’s been single for eight months, and expressed that she likes it that way to her female co-workers who are always on the lookout for someone to set her up with. She’s been divorced for four years, and nine months ago she caved after they bombarded her with a surprise blind date. The guy was alright, nice enough on the surface, but she just didn’t connect with him well. She really gave it an effort though, but she blames that on peer pressure. They danced around each other for a month before giving out. She let him break the news to her. She didn’t want his ego to be damaged from it when really she blamed herself. 

It’s been hard for her to connect with people ever since her divorce and the loss of her child. All the trauma and broken memories have clouded her once positive energy. Seemingly as a coping mechanism, her mind goes back to the man sitting in the booth. Suddenly, she’s a little uncomfortable with _how comfortable_ she feels around him. She wants to believe she felt an instant connection, which is something she thought was lost forever for her. Her mind is jumbled. _Just because he’s being nice doesn’t mean you can trust him. Ed was once nice too, you know._ She told herself, even though part of her knows there’s a difference. However, she quickly pushes away the debate as the plate of fried chicken bites slides in front of her. Since Ed, she’s stopped making impulsive decisions, now one to feel things out first.

As she walks back over to her last guest of the night, she decides that moment to take him in. He’s shaking one leg and tapping an index finger on the table. She doesn’t regard this as impatient, instead she decides he looks anxious, like he’s got something on his mind. She wants to ask, wants to get to know him, but she won’t. She sets the plate down in front of him and he immediately acknowledges her. “Thank you,” he says, making eye contact, and she thinks that’s the first time she’s ever heard a thank you since she started working at this poor excuse of a diner. She smiles in gratitude, “You’re welcome…,” she trails off as a means to know his name. “Daryl,” he responds back. She mentally notes the rhyme. “Enjoy,… Daryl,” she adds finally and heads back. She makes the decision to conceivably _not_ enjoy the way it rolled off her tongue with ease.

It was only ten minutes past closing time, and Daryl was already done with his meal. She hadn’t minded his presence and her overtime, but still he ate very, _very_ quickly. She worried she gave off the impression she was rushing to be finished with him. Maybe he knew how late it was and didn’t want to keep her. Or, maybe he was just super hungry. After a moment, she concluded it was probably both. She watched as he left a copious amount of a tip on the table and started to exit. Before he walked out the door, he turned and looked at her as she cleaned the table. For half a second, she thought his pause meant he forgot something. He left, and she wondered what it was. 

She hoped he’d be back. She instantly remembered his eyes. Those kind, green eyes. Replacing the dark ones filled with rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry will be coming in chapter 3, stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic in this fandom! Please be gentle and please leave a comment, I really need motivation and I love hearing other's thoughts so if you wanna leave any ideas for future chapters or what you thought, that'd be great, thanks!


End file.
